


My Angel, Flung Out of Space

by Moonlightkitten



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 00:45:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14965427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlightkitten/pseuds/Moonlightkitten
Summary: Trapped in a soul-crushing day job at Macy's Department Store, Jean Smith's life is forever changed when a beautiful woman named Melody Pond walks in to buy a Christmas toy for her son.(The Price of Salt,["Carol"], AU)





	My Angel, Flung Out of Space

**Author's Note:**

> Guys I was just reading _Carol_ and I knew I needed to write a fic about it. And then I thought, Therese sounds like Thirteen, and Carol is another word for Song... And then this just wrote itself. (Also, I know I can be bad about updating my multi-chapter fics, but luckily for you and unluckily for me, I'll be in the hospital for the next couple of weeks, so I'll have plenty of writing time.)

The lunch hour in the coworkers’ cafeteria at Macy’s had reached its peak. 

 

Jean munched nervously on the cafeteria french fries ( _ which weren’t really French,  _ she thought derisively), with the “Welcome to Macy’s” packet propped against the napkin dispenser. She had already read through the booklet within about twelve seconds of receiving it, but she wanted to appear occupied so that nobody would join her. It wasn’t exactly advantageous being the only British person in the store, either-- everybody wanted to talk to her. To them, she was different, foreign,  _ exciting.  _

 

If only they knew. 

 

She scanned the third page of the packet,  _ Vacations and Benefits.  _  The bottom section of the page was printed with “Twenty-five Yearers receive five weeks’ vacation.” Eyeing some of the older clerks from across the room, Jean tried to imagine having worked twenty-five years at Macy’s department store. It was difficult, nearly impossible. She hoped upon hope that her life would not come to that. She was a dreamer, she told herself. She would travel. She wouldn’t allow herself to be trapped in this cage forever and ever. 

 

Sighing, Jean dumped her tray in the tiny rubbish bin at the corner of the break room. She started off toward the toy department, keeping her head down. If she wasn’t late, perhaps Mrs. Tyler wouldn’t pay her any mind. She had already received her training, hadn’t she? There was really no reason for the old lady to boss her around any more. 

 

She avoided Mrs. Tyler’s gaze and ducked into the ladies’ room to pull on her uniform. It was a short dress that hung to about her knees, made of coarse brown fabric and a collar that itched at every turn. 

  
Jean hated it. She hated _this,_ working in this department store, being stifled by these concrete walls. Having to endure the constant jeers and advances of her male colleagues. Her first day hadn’t even begun, and already she wanted to leave. She just wanted to _leave_. Travel. Go places. 

 

Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the restroom and darted over to the doll store. At least it was nearly Christmas. That was something, wasn’t it? 

 

The work wasn’t difficult, she found, but monotonous. Jackie Tyler even praised her a few times for her outgoing personality, though Sylvia Noble scolded her for her clumsiness. Already, after just three hours, Jean had damaged a doll. It had nearly shattered, and the porcelain face bore a small crack. (The two women decided to sell it anyway, because it was the holiday season, and toys were flying off the shelves. A little damage didn’t hurt anyone, especially since it was barely visible. Profit came first.) 

 

Now she was unlocking the cash register and folding the fifteen dollars worth of crisp bills from her last sale inside.

 

Their eyes met at the very same moment, Jean glancing up from the box, and the woman turning her head with a small grin so that her gaze rested on Jean. She was quite tall, just over six feet (although, Jean realized, she was wearing rather high heels), with hair that ought to have defied the laws of space and time. And her eyes shimmered with a light green that enchanted Jean so that she could not look away. The man in front of her repeated his request, but Jean did not even hear him. She was deaf. Mute. 

 

With a smirk, the woman approached the counter, and Jean flushed, crimson flowering through her cheeks like a drop of wine poured into a full glass of water. 

 

“Hello. Can I see the one with the red hair?” inquired the woman, pointing to the very same doll that Jean had dropped earlier. Her accent was British, too, though more Southern. 

 

Jean swallowed, reaching for the doll instinctively, but then snapping back as though her hand had been stung. “Sorry, you don’t want that one. It’s broken. Can I… uh…. help you? I mean,” she rushed, her face tingling, “with another doll. To find one.” 

 

The woman raised an eyebrow. It was dark blonde, in a perfectly shaped arch, following the curve of her rather magnificent lips. Jean struggled to breathe. 

 

“I’m looking for something for my son,” she said huskily, and somehow even those words made Jean’s throat go dry. “He’s ten years old.”

 

“Oh,” she stammered, tearing her eyes away to examine the merchandise shelves. “Your son?”

 

“Yes,” said the woman, a bit of an edge to her voice. “He’s allowed to play with dolls if he wants, isn’t he? It’s nineteen seventy, for goodness’s sake. I think we’ve come that far.” 

 

“No,” replied Jean hastily, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean it like… that. I was just thinking that I could have his name inscribed on the box. What  _ is  _ his name?” 

 

The woman smiled. “Rory. Rory Pond. Although,” she amended, “Does it cost extra? I don’t know that I can afford much more than twenty dollars.” 

 

Jean shook her head. “No extra charge.” 

 

That was a complete lie, of course. Inscriptions cost almost ten dollars more. Discreetly, she fumbled in the pocket of her dress. Good, there were two five dollar bills there. She wasn’t quite sure why she was doing this, only that her heart leaped each time the woman looked her way.  

 

She excused herself for a moment and hurried to the back room, where she carefully wrote the words ‘To Rory Pond. Merry Christmas!” in the register. The inscription would take ten or so minutes. Smiling slightly to herself, she returned to the counter, where the woman was waiting with the doll she wanted. 

 

“I’ll take this one, please,” she told Jean, reaching into her back pocket for her wallet. Jean noticed that she was wearing slacks, which caused an unsolicited shiver to tingle through her stomach. “I’d like it delivered. Will it arrive before Christmas?” 

 

“Yes,” Jean said softly, taking the cash. “Just… write down your, um, your address for me. It’ll get there on Wednesday at the latest.” 

 

(Jean would make sure of that herself.)

 

The woman scrawled down a street address on the delivery slip, as well as her name. Jean tried to squint at it without being too obvious.  _ Ms. Melody Pond.  _ It was a fitting name, she thought, for this gorgeous goddess of a woman. She turned back to the delivery room to go retrieve the box. 

 

“Inscription?” she heard Mrs. Noble snap nearby at another customer. “That’ll be nine dollars extra.” 

 

Jean swallowed. She knew that the woman had heard that. Oh, goodness, she would find out. 

  
Sure enough, Ms. Pond cleared her throat. “Nine dollars extra? That’s not what you told me.” She smiled as though she understood, leaning forward slightly. “Won’t they have a fit if you undercharge me?” 

 

“It doesn’t matter,” murmured Jean, glancing away. “I’ll pay for it. It’s no trouble.” 

 

The jasmine and lavender of the woman’s perfume wafted suddenly across the counter. Jean inhaled, tingling all the way down to her toes. She wished that Ms. Pond would take her hand, would pull her close so that she could bathe in that scent. Would it be forward to invite the woman to lunch? Just as a business date. Just as a friend. Did department store clerks do that sort of thing? Especially one woman to another?

 

Ms. Pond eyed her up and down quietly. “How old are you, sweetie? It’s your first day working here, isn’t it?” 

 

“No,” Jean lied, clenching the delivery slip with her information. “It’s paid for. Have a nice day.”

  
“I think I’ll see you again,” Melody said with a private grin, turning on her heel and walking off. “In fact, I’m sure of it.” 

 

Jean watched her all the way to the door. 

**Author's Note:**

> All titles from The Price of Salt (Carol). Please leave a comment if you enjoyed!   
> Comments=Love!


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